


i've been aching for you, my love

by sparxwrites



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Biting, Blood, Bruises, Choking, Dom/sub Undertones, Magical Drugging, Other, Painplay, Rough Sex, Tentacles, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4206159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I must admit,” says Kirin, quietly, hands curled around Lying’s calves in a loose grip. “I’m not entirely sure what to do with this.”<br/>“Oh, you’re intelligent,” says Lying carelessly, leaning their shoulders back against the wall and pushing their hips further out, closer to Kirin's face. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."</p>
<p>(In which Lying is friendly and charming and manipulative, and Kirin tries his best to be a <i>good friend</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i've been aching for you, my love

**Author's Note:**

> i have like three prompts in my inbox asking for more rref kirinlying, but alas i have none of that so. have gross shit and tentacles just. take the gross tentacles ok, i started this back in november and i am so done w it. started based off spoilers sassytail told me regarding m:thw, and finished because of enabling by several awful people. title taken from [this song](http://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=cvzu3bKgt5Y#Emma_Louise_-_Jungle_%5BOfficial_Music_Video%5D), and thanks to sam / cera for betaing.

“I must admit,” says Kirin, quietly, hands curled around Lying’s calves in a loose grip. “I’m not  _entirely_ sure what to do with this.”

“Oh, you’re intelligent,” says Lying carelessly, leaning their shoulders back against the wall and pushing their hips further out, closer to Kirin's face. They're already a little aroused, emerging tentacles barely an inch long but already stretching eagerly towards Kirin, oozing black slick to the floor. "I'm sure you'll figure something out." Their fingers are already wound in Kirin's hair, and they pet at it gently, tracing broken nails across his scalp.

When Kirin still hesitates, Lying sighs. "You _are_ going to do to this for me, aren't you?" they say, slow and murmured, layering dripping strata of magic into the words – all glamours and charms and persuasion. "Aren't you?" They trace sigils onto Kirin's skull under the pretext of stroking his hair, symbols of loyalty and obedience and false love. "You're my friend, aren't you, Kirin? And you're going to be so good to me."

Exhaling shakily, Kirin nods, leans up into Lying's touch. "Yes," he breathes, eyes a little unfocused, lips parted. "Yes, I- you're my friend. I'm going to be good for you."

He misses the way Lying's smile widens – a flash of pointed teeth that stretches off the edges of their face and warps the laws of physics and biology – before they get it under control. " _Excellent_." They tug Kirin forward, one hand in his hair and the other curled around the base of one crystalline antler, and thrill at how easily he bends under the pressure.

Opening his lips, Kirin lets himself be pulled forward, fits his mouth between Lying's legs. Lying hisses at even that faint contact, at the heat of Kirin's breath, and groans when Kirin finally places his tongue against the elongated nubs. "Oh," they murmur, fingers curling just a little tighter into his hair. "Oh, yes, that _is_ nice."

Kirin hums happily at the words, at the slight pressure on his scalp. He wasn't lying when he said he didn't know what to do – but he's never come across genitals that don't respond favourably to being licked. Pressing his tongue flat against one of the tendrils, he licks slowly over the emerging nubs, the rough surface of his tongue providing enough friction to wring another groan from deep in Lying’s chest.

The tendrils grow eagerly under the stimulation, low heat simmering hotter in the pit of Lying’s stomach with every pass of Kirin’s tongue. Kirin is sloppy, undoubtedly, noisy and wet and overenthusiastic, but his tongue is warm and rough and slick, fingers pressing bruise-firm against the soft skin of Lying’s thighs.

It’s enough to have them rocking against Kirin’s mouth within moments, gasping as their tentacles stretch eagerly forwards. The tentacles brush against Kirin’s face, elongating to grab greedily at whatever they can reach – his hair, his ears, or the smooth, cool planes of his antlers and horns. Others wedge their way into his mouth, slipping through the gaps where his mouth is sealed to the fork of Lying’s legs, taking advantage of the pauses where he pulls back to breathe to push between his teeth and slither inside.

Some slip down his throat, pressing through the tangled mess in his mouth, over his tongue and _down_. He chokes around them, tries to suck in a breath with the shock of it and can’t manage to, entire body spasming with the sudden denial of air.

Grinning, Lying winds fingers into his hair and drags him closer, until his nose is pressed close against the point where hip meets thigh. “ _Easy_ ,” they coax, unable to keep the vibrating delight out of their voice, pupils huge and dark, mouth half-open with excitement. “Shh, shh, just _relax_.”

Despite his attempts to comply, forcing his throat to relax around the intrusion, Kirin only ends up gagging harder when more tentacles take the opportunity to push their way in. His eyes water, chest aflame as the urge to breathe grows stronger and stronger, his grip around Lying’s calves slowly tightening in distress. His mouth is a writhing mess of tentacles, and the ones pushing down his throat leave a visible, distended bulge as he swallows fitfully around them to accommodate the intrusion.

Lying holds him there, clutched tight to them by his throat until it starts fluttering around them, twitching under their grip, lips faintly purple and pupils blown wide and black.

“Breathe,” they say, calm and almost disinterested, as the tentacles release and Kirin shudders, doubles over and braces hands against the floor. He coughs hard, hacking wetly around the soreness and swelling in his throat, drooling strings of saliva and black slick onto the floor. Some of it catches in his beard, drips down over the bruising on his throat, and Lying makes a face. “Oh, you are a messy creature, aren’t you?”

Kirin whines, a thin noise of protest, shoulders shaking as he tries to catch his breath and fails. “S-sorry, I can’t- help it-” The messy slick dripping from his mouth is tinged pink, and Lying hums thoughtfully, reaching down to card fingers through the tentacles and sighing when they feel barbs emerging from the gelatinous surface.

“Poor thing,” they murmur, voice laced with sickly-sweet sympathy as they reach out to scratch gentle fingernails along the line of Kirin’s jaw, pushing a thumb into his mouth to rub the pad of it along the inside of his cheek. When they pull their hand away, the thumb comes back stained red from the shallow scratches lining the inside of his mouth. “Poor, _poor_ thing. Did that hurt?”

Eyes refocusing, Kirin lifts his head with an effort of will to stare up at them. “Lying,” he manages, licking his lips, eyes wide. For a moment, Lying thinks he’s going to stop, or complain, and they reach out to touch his head and trace more magic against their scalp, strengthened by the blood still smeared against their skin.

Instead, Kirin lurches forward on his knees, one hand grabbing at their calf and the other clutching callous-rough over their hip. “Oh, _Lying_ ,” he breathes, the word somewhere between a moan and a prayer, leaning in to nuzzle against the soft skin of their lower stomach.

The rough scrape of his beard is enough to make Lying twitch, an aborted doubling-over as they grab for Kirin’s horns with a sharp intake of breath. “Ah-” they manage, the exhale fracturing into a groan as Kirin nuzzles lower, laps between their legs again and then seals his mouth flat and _sucks._ “Ohhh, that’s- _yes_ -”

It’s unexpected, his enthusiasm, given the mess they’d made of him just moments ago – unexpected, but entirely welcome. They tighten one hand around the base of his antlers, curl the fingers of the other around the ram’s horn on the opposite side of his head, and tug him closer, pressing his mouth more firmly against the steady throb of arousal between their legs.

The tentacles are just as eager as Lying is, curling around Kirin’s throat again and coiling against one another as they shift enough to press into his mouth, down his throat. This time, Lying controls them with an effort of will, forces the spines to stay beneath the surface despite the way Kirin’s throat flexes around them as they push to the back of his throat.

Overwhelmed, Lying chokes on an exhale, crimson nails scraping against his horns hard enough to score lines in them with a screech of metal on glass.

"Bed!" they gasp, desperate, hunched almost double over Kirin's head with the force of the heat pooling in their stomach. They drag him away by his antlers, tugging until he pulls free, and then letting go with one hand to wrestle their tentacles away. The tentacles are reluctant to release Kirin, but do so with a little coaxing and a lot of willpower, uncoiling from around his throat and horns where they'd anchored.

Kirin coughs at the sudden release, the influx of air to his lungs and the strings of dark slick that slide down his throat with it. There's a thick smear of black around his neck where the tentacles clung, an inky stain pressed into his skin.

"Bed," repeats Lying, tugging sharply on one antler until Kirin rises obediently to his feet on shaky legs, locking his knees to stay upright. “ _Now_!”

It takes several lurching, stumbling steps to get them both from the wall by the door to Lying’s bed. It’s a single, no room for them both to fit side by side – so Lying pushes Kirin down onto it in a sprawl of limbs and straddles him, knees just touching the mattress as their legs are spread wide by the width of Kirin’s hips. 

Kirin’s hands reach up to grasp at Lying’s waist, hungry for their skin against his, and Lying tips their head back, mouth open and eyelids fluttering, as the pressure pulls them down against Kirin. “ _Yes_ ,” they hiss, starting up a steady rocking back and forth that’s aided by the arch of Kirin’s spine and the push-pull of his broad palms once he gets the idea. The delicious friction of it is enough to make them groan, press down harder, enough to make the still-lengthening tentacles between his legs coil and twist, shying away from the intensity of the touch before reaching out to _grab_.

They curl around Kirin’s waist and upper thighs in a bruising grip, tugging his legs open wider, and Lying groans as they rut against his stomach, all softness and fur beneath them. “God, _Kirin_ ,” they breathe, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut, hands braced against his chest as they rock themself against him with a single-minded intensity. “Oh-”

More of the tentacles spread out from the coiling mass between their legs, tracing over Kirin’s skin, smearing black slick in their wake as Lying gasps with the friction. One coils around Kirin’s cock, and he twitches, spreads his legs further and whines through the bruises blooming in a collar around his throat. “Lying, please…” he manages, licking his lips and grabbing at the bedsheets for something to cling to, heels skidding across the mattress in a futile attempt to ground himself.

“Shhh,” murmurs Lying, between one hitching gasp and the next. “Shh, shh, let me-” They break off, chin dropped against their chest and lower lip caught between pointed teeth hard enough to draw blood.

This time, they lift up before grinding down, and yet more tentacles slip between their legs. When they press down, the spread of tentacles and the increased friction makes them moan. “Yes, that’s- oh, that’s _perfect_ ,” they manage, teeth bared in a bloodied smile that’s almost vicious.

Kirin preens under the praise, chin tilted up to bare his throat, fingers fisted tight in the bedspread. “G- good,” he groans, the word fracturing into a breathless whine when the tentacle coiled around his cock shifts, the slick surface of it loosening against him. He bucks up into the loose coil of it, mouth half open and gasping, as the warm pleasure of it builds slow up his spine, down his thighs.

“Ah, ah,” reprimands Lying, licking over their teeth and resting their fingertips on Kirin’s chest to dig nails in. “No. You need to stay still for me, remember? Or you get hurt.” They raise their hand and trace a path between the crescent-moon welts pressed into his skin beneath the soft fur of his chest. It’s so easy to turn the slow, steady curve of it into another scratched sigil of obedience, pliancy, _love_. “You need to stay still for me.”

It’s slow torture, pressed as motionless as he can manage against the mattress with Lying’s weight on top of him, the slick slide of them against him and the agonisingly light coil of wet pressure around his cock. Kirin clutches at the sheets tight enough to tear, cheek pressed against the mattress as Lying’s steady rocking smears slick the colour of fresh bruises across his stomach. “I need-” he tries, chokes on his words as Lying presses down and slides backwards slowly until Kirin’s cock nudges against the curve of their ass. “ _Lying_ , god, I need- more, please, you’re _teasing_.”

Lying chuckles, licking their lips at the bright desperation in Kirin’s eyes, the pink inside of his mouth as he gasps for air. “Greedy,” they murmur, as if they aren’t just as desperate, just as hungry and aching and wanting, leaning down to nip at the lines of his collar bones. “Needy. So _demanding_.”

Taking pity, they move their mouth up the exposed line of his throat, lingering over his pulse, the faint bulge of his adam’s apple. They press a kiss to the corner of his open mouth, feather-light, and grin when he turns his head to catch their lips with all the desperation of someone drowning.

It’s barely seconds before Kirin chokes a noise of surprise into their mouth, a moment before Lying registers the sudden, tight heat around one of their tentacles.

They double over, only stopped from collapsing against Kirin’s chest by his hands flying to their hips and _squeezing_. “Kirin,” they murmur against his mouth, his name on their lips like a prayer as they roll their hips, and they both groan in unison when the tentacle presses deeper.

When the tip of a second tentacle traces up his thigh – a smear of blackish slick left trailed in its wake – Kirin twitches, clenching tight around the one already inside him as the second circles questioningly around the point where Kirin and Lying join.

Lying muffles their gasp by biting their lip, bracing their hands against his chest again and starting up their slow back-and-forth rocking once more as the second tentacle slowly, slowly pushes its way inside Kirin. The heat and pressure of it is almost too much, almost overwhelming, enough to make their back round into a curve as their shoulders drop, enough to make them gasp with every inhale.

Their increasingly unsteady grinding is soon met by tentative twitches of Kirin’s hips, a slow arch up into their rocking against his stomach and small, greedy shoves back against the tentacles inside him. More coil up his thighs, made curious by the movement, exploring the solid muscle of his legs and the curve of his arse. They press inside him slowly, deliberately, a inexorable push that leaves him crying out with every movement, mindless with arousal and stretched wide and aching and full around the width of them.

His hands slip from Lying’s hips when they start grabbing hard enough to bruise and Lying hisses a reprimand, bites his shoulder hard until he lets go with a strangled cry – but he keeps up the slow thrusting, movements growing bolder and needier as arousal settles heavier between his legs with every brush of his cock against the curve of Lying’s arse.

“Stay still!” gasps Lying, desperately, peeled-back lips and bared teeth hidden by the curtain of hair across their face. “Just- _god_ -” Their rocking is hardly grinding at all now, more an uneven slide across the spreading-bruise puddle of dark slick they’ve made on Kirin’s stomach, a frustrating lack of friction between his skin and their tentacles. “Stay _still_ , or-”

“Can’t,” whines Kirin, helplessly, fisting at the sheets and bucking his hips up to meet Lying’s frantic downward shoves, up into the loose coils around his cock that tighten with every movement he makes. “I can’t, Lying, _please_ -” He knows the risks, still has the pinprick wounds throbbing on his throat to remind him of what happens if he can’t stop squirming. It would be all too easy for Lying to tear him apart from the inside out like this, but the fire stoked in his stomach is burning too hot for him to stay still.

The tentacles around his thighs tighten abruptly, slick pressure laced with needle teeth biting against his skin hard enough to draw blood, and it’s enough – enough for him to buck his hips up one last time, arch into the stretch of the tentacles pushed inside him, and come across his own thighs and Lying’s back with a hoarse yell.

He digs fingers into the mattress, panting as he shudders his way through it, hips twitching faintly until he no longer has the energy to do anything other than lie there with shaking thighs and drown in the rush of pleasure. “Lying,” he groans, eyes wide and unfocused as he struggles to catch his breath, clenching unevenly around the tentacles still pushed deep inside him.

One trembling hand releases its white-knuckled grip on the sheets to paw at Lying’s stomach, the curve of their waist, the peaks of their nipples, desperate for more contact with the warmth of their skin in the wake of the endorphins. “That was- _incredible_ , come on- c’mon-” He tries to arch up against them, despite the weakness in his limbs, digging heels into the mattress and curving his spine to push up into the frantic roughness of Lying’s grinding, clenching deliberately around the width of the tentacles spreading him wide. “Come-”

Lying collapses forward against him with a cry only moments later, shuddering, nails digging into Kirin’s shoulders hard enough to draw blood as they press their open mouth against his throat. Gritting their teeth against the noises bubbling up in their throat, the only sound that escapes them is a high, thin whine as they grind frantically against Kirin to ride out their orgasm, hot pleasure blooming in the pit of their stomach.

Sprawled on the bed beneath them, Kirin trembles, mouth half-open and eyes heavy-lidded – Lying can feel the vibrations of his shaking where they’re pressed chest to chest, and it makes them laugh, quietly, face pressed against the curve of Kirin’s neck. “Well done,” they manage eventually, a little breathlessly, raising an arm despite the warm lethargy spreading through them to thread fingers through Kirin’s hair. “You did _so_ well.”

Kirin leans gratefully into the touch with the slightest arch of his neck and tilt of his chin, a small whine building in his chest when Lying twists their head to kiss the exposed line of his throat, over the collar of purple-black bruises rising there. The tentacles still inside him twitch, a flicker of movement that’s almost painful to his current oversensitivity, and he whimpers with it. They slip out slowly, one by one, shrinking steadily back to the small nubs between Lying’s legs until Kirin’s left empty and clenching around nothing, dripping filthy slick onto the white sheets.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, an edge of desperation to his voice as Lying drags teeth over the bruise, hard enough to make him flinch. “ _Thank you_. You’re so good to me. Such a good friend.” He pauses, worries at his already bloodied lip with blunt teeth. “I- I was good, wasn’t I?”

“Yes,” soothes Lying, the words a purr against Kirin’s pulse point. Their fingers play with Kirin’s hair, brushing through it absently as their nails renew the sigils scratched gently over his scalp. Kissing the soft, vulnerable skin of his throat, they smile, licking over pointed teeth and relishing the way Kirin moans at the mere touch of their lips – so good, so obedient, so easily corrupted. “Yes, of course you were. My good, _wonderful_ friend.”


End file.
